


seasons may change (but i love you)

by kittpurrson



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Childhood Friends, First Kiss, M/M, SKAM Fic Week, Sharing a Bed, Spooning, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 21:55:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11814966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittpurrson/pseuds/kittpurrson
Summary: Three times Even and Isak share a bed platonically, and one time they don't.For SKAM fic week's day two prompt: bed sharing.





	seasons may change (but i love you)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to allyasavedtheday for organizing this fic week!
> 
> Title from Come What May, the original song from Baz Luhrmann's Moulin Rouge.
> 
> I'm sorry, this is pure fluff.

**1\. Summer. 10 years old.**

Isak knows that Even has been watching too many horror films lately that his mamma doesn’t know about. He knows this because Isak has been watching them with him, but Isak isn’t scared of the things that go bump in the night, because the things he sees in the bright daylight of his living room are what scare him the most. 

Isak and Even are ten years old, Isak’s birthday finally catching him up, and Even has been watching a lot of scary movies lately, all haunted woods and forest monsters, so it doesn’t surprise him when, two days after his birthday, Even’s mamma knocks on Isak’s front door and tells him she’s taking him camping as his gift this year. Behind her, Isak watches Even in the car, pulling the widest grin Isak has ever seen as he bounces in his seat. 

The sky is bright and clear, and Isak’s papa has already said yes, already packed his bags, and it’s the best birthday present he could have imagined. He and Even swim in the lake, racing to the buoy and back, then dry out in the midsummer sun and eat hot dogs with the most disgusting toppings they can think of.

At night, Even’s papa tells them ghost stories around a little fire, and Even teaches Isak how to make his marshmallow go just the right colour brown then proceeds to burn his own fingers. Even’s mamma gives them cocoa from a flask, and when Even and Isak settle into their tent for the night, they feel incredibly brave and grown up, if mildly sunburned and hyperactive from the sugar.

Isak is just thinking how much better this birthday is than the last when the noises start. The rustles on the ground outside. The distant howling of wolves.

Isak isn’t  _ afraid _ at all, no matter what Even might say later. But when he turns in his sleeping bag to look at Even, wondering if the noises have woken him, he finds his friend staring back with wide eyes.

“Are there bears in Norway?” Even whispers, and Isak narrows his eyes.

“You’re the one who knows about camping, stupid,” he says, hoping that Even won’t notice him shiver.

Even notices.

“I was just thinking,” Even says, “about pappa’s story. About the forest troll.”

Isak swallows. “What about it?” He asks.

“Nothing,” Even says quickly, but Isak notices how he shuffles closer to Isak. The way his face looks funny, like he’s about to cry or something -- which is crazy, because Even never cries. 

They’re quiet for a long moment, and then a twig snaps nearby and they both startle, grabbing for each other before staring down the tent flap like it’ll burst open at any moment.

“Do you maybe-” Isak asks, and Even is on it before he even finishes his question. Even unzips his sleeping bag, then Isak unzips his, and they zip them together, rolling into the middle to seek out each other for comfort.

When Even’s pappa opens their tent flap in the morning, they’re sound asleep, Even’s hand gripping Isak’s arm as he drools into the crook of his best friend’s neck.  
  


-

**2\. Autumn. 14 years old.**

_ Bipolar disorder. _ Isak has been looking at the wikipedia page the whole tram ride home from school--honestly, since the moment Even texted him to say he was finally home in his own bed. He hasn’t responded to anything Isak has sent him since, except to say  _ ok  _ when Isak asked to come over. 

He adjusts his scarf nervously as he buzzes at the door of Even’s apartment building, the new fingerless gloves Jonas thinks are so cool doing nothing to warm his fingertips. It’s already getting colder, the leaves on the trees outside all red and bronze, but when he steps inside Even’s place it’s almost overwhelmingly warm, the heating turned up uncomfortably high.

Even’s mamma ushers him inside with a furrowed brow, phone pressed to her ear, and says nothing until Isak has taken off all his layers, turned the corner toward’s Even’s bedroom. As he pauses at the door, he hears her resume a hushed conversation - with the school, Isak realises, when he hears the principal’s name. It’s only October, but Even has already missed enough school for his parents to need to worry.

Isak is worried, too, but not about that.

He’s worried about the lump under the covers at the top of the loft bed, covered with blanket upon blanket. When he climbs the ladder, all he can see is Even’s sweaty hair on his pillow, until the weight of Isak’s knees on the mattress makes Even’s head turn in a slow roll towards him.

Even doesn’t say anything, but Isak knows Even can see the way the tears are pricking at Isak’s eyes; how Isak feels so afraid, right now.

Even moves the covers ever so slightly, pushing the duvet off of himself, and Isak scrambles forwards. Even sighs as Isak spoons up behind him, rests a tentative hand on Even’s arm.

Eventually, Isak hears Even’s breathing slow as he drifts into sleep, but Isak can't join him. Not just because it's barely six at night, but because it occurs to him, for the first time, that there are things Even is going to go through that Isak can't help. Just like Even can't make Isak's mother stop having bad days, or make Isak stop getting that funny feeling in his belly when Even smiles at Sonja.

Isak and Even are fourteen years old, and Isak is slowly learning that there are things in life that are going to be difficult to bear, that growing older isn’t just about being free to play video games and stay up later; it’s also a lot of pretending everything is fine when it really isn’t. Of watching their friend Jonas get his first girlfriend and kiss her lipgloss-tacky lips in the schoolyard. Of watching Even fumble his way through asking Sonja to borrow a pen and, two days later, get in trouble for texting her at family dinner.

Of Isak feeling more alone at home than he does in the presence of strangers, sometimes, and not wanting to admit it to anybody, even Even.

Isak can’t solve anything for himself, so he sure as hell can’t solve it for his best friend.

All Isak can do is hold him close, and watch the rain start to fall outside Even’s bedroom window. Take in the smell of Even’s pillow, and the kind of gross mustiness of Even’s sweat. Even looks terrible, face pale and covered in acne--but Isak looks at his friend’s face and imagines, for a moment, that he could take Even’s pain away.

Isak doesn't go home that night, and when he texts his mamma he blames the storm, the hail that taps on Even’s window pane in a messy clatter.

(His mamma says the flood is coming. The end of days.

Lying there, watching Even toss and turn, Isak almost believes it. He holds on a little tighter.)

 

-

**3\. Winter. 16 years old.**

Everything around them is blurry and white.

They’ve been to the ski station so many times before, but Isak has never seen anything like this, the snow coming down so suddenly or violently. He drags himself forward through the deep powder, wincing at the dull pressure on his left ankle. He’s using his snowboard like a walking stick, trying to keep his balance -- it isn’t as easy as it sounds, but he'll have to make do.

Just a little way ahead of him, Even clears his own path through the snow, the black of his hood almost lost in the precipitation. Isak wants to call for him to slow down, but he doesn’t have the energy.

He's lucky that Even had noticed him stray from the run, even if he hadn't been there in time to stop Isak from hitting the snowdrift. Isak knew it had been stupid. He’d been trying to prove to Even’s family that he was just as good as Sonja… like, he just couldn't take anymore hints about how  _ Sonja was a great snowboarder, remember that jump last year.  _ Isak is nowhere near good enough to have handled that run, but when they tried to tell him that, he faked enough bravado that they let him go, grumbling about everyone’s lack of faith. 

The thing was, he knew they didn't mean it as a slight against him, who'd been called on to take Sonja’s  place at the last minute after the latest breakup. Even’s parents just loved her.  

And Even… Isak blinks, then, because Even is trying to say something.

“I think I see a cabin,” Even yells over the howling blizzard. Which is good, because Isak can't really wriggle his toes right now. And all this walking is getting really fucking tiring--Isak can feel himself listing from side to side as he drags himself through the snow, feel how heavy his eyes are getting.

It feels sort of lovely, actually. To let his eyes drift shut, pretend he’s somewhere else.

His mind wanders, and he nearly slips, and the next thing he knows Even is making his way back to him, wrapping an arm around Isak’s waist to help him stay upright.

There are a few minutes that Isak barely remembers even as they happen, and then they're inside a cabin, and Even is shaking him, eyes roving over him, a wild look in his eyes.

“What?” Isak can hear himself slur, but Even doesn't reply, just starts unbuttoning Isak's borrowed ski jacket. It doesn't really fit him-- he'd realized that the second he ploughed into the drift, slush rushing inside it all and drenching him to the bone. Even’s father is far broader across the chest than Isak, and it shows.

“We need to warm you up,” Even says, and Isak is too tired to argue as Even pulls Isak's base layer over his head, the fabric burning as it brushes over his nipples. They're so hard it hurts.

Everything hurts, to the extent where it’s almost like nothing hurts. How weird.

“Come on,” Even says, and when Isak looks down they're both naked--which Isak distantly thinks he should feel some sort of way about. But all he feels is numb. 

He would complain, but he can't quite make his tongue move quickly enough. 

Instead, he lets Even carefully maneuver him into bed, feels Even wrap his long limbs around him. His torso is a worrying shade of white.

“Don't fall asleep on me,” Even says, voice urgent, and Isak shivers, then--before realizing that wow, he'd been too cold to even shiver before. He's slow on the uptake, but dimly it registers that this might actually be really fucking bad.

“Even?” He says, and Even strokes lightly down his arms. It hurts--as do his toes, which sting, needles racing up through them where they're pressed against Even’s bare legs.

But if Even replies, Isak isn’t aware of it.

He’s barely aware enough not to let himself go limp in Even’s arms; he just squeezes his eyes shut, tries to think clearly. But he’s wracked with shivers now, teeth chatting together and body violently convulsing, so that it feels like Even isn’t just trying to hold him, but hold him together.

He doesn't remember much more until he wakes in the morning, pink and squirming under the weight of Even, his ankle screaming in agony. It still takes him a while to move.  
  


-

**+1. Spring. 17 and 18 years old.**

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two--

“Happy birthday, Even,” Isak murmurs, toasting him with his lukewarm beer can. 

The alarm clock on Isak's nightstand--a gift from Eskild--is blinking 00:00. Even toasts back with his own beer, and smiles, looking younger than his 18 years with his hair hanging fluffy in his face.

“Older than you again,” Even teases. He reaches out and pushes an errant curl behind Isak’s ear, and Isak ignores how the butterflies stir up at the casual intimacy.

"Not for long," Isak says, like he has every year since they were old enough to count.

In front of them, Isak’s laptop is open to the paused screen of the movie--some pretentious tragic romance bullshit that Even chose, as it’s his birthday--but Even makes no move to unpause it. 

Instead, Even clears his throat.

“I can’t believe I’m eighteen,” he says, full of wonder, and Isak hears a dark echo to the words. 

There have been days, Isak knows, that Even hasn’t believed he’ll live this long. Days that even Isak can’t reach him, or that Even sits and recounts every bad thought he’s ever had about himself until he’s incapable of doing anything but living one minute at a time, just trying to ride out whatever wave he’s currently riding without worrying about when the next will hit.

“Congratulations,” Isak says, instead of acknowledging Even’s wonder.  Because he’s learned to take his cues from Even, and not question or be upset by the morbid moments. It’s part of who Even is, now, and Isak is used to it. Likes to think he knows, after all this time, how to be honest with Even while also saying the things he actually needs to hear. 

“Now you can buy me beer,” Isak jokes, and Even pulls an offended face.

“I see how it is. Only using me for my ID.” 

“No, your music collection is pretty good too.” 

“My music collection? Just last week you were making fun of my kitchen bops playlist.”

“Nobody else has a  _ kitchen bops _ playlist, Even,” Isak says, then blushes when he realizes how he and Even are grinning at each other. 

Lately things have been more and more like this--more moments where Isak can let himself imagine that his best friend wants to kiss him just as much as he want to be kissed.

The kitchen thing hadn't helped.

A week ago, Even had crashed at the kollektiv and Isak had come into the kitchen to find Even wiggling his hips and bobbing his head to the shittiest pop songs of the last decade, and all Isak had been able to do was stand and stare for a moment, feeling his heart swell up with affection for this ridiculous nerd he somehow had in his life.

“It’s their loss, baby,” Even declares, and Isak nods, because he can’t help himself, even as  _ baby baby baby  _ echoes in his mind. Of all Even’s casual endearments, that might be the one that hits Isak most squarely in the heart.

Still, he says nothing, just smiles back at Even and tries not to let his feelings get the better of him.

He knows they probably look stupid at hell right now, illuminated as they are by the moonlight. They’ve got all the lights off except the blue glow of Isak’s screen, and they’re grinning at each other in the half darkness.

It’s a warm night, for February, spring seeming to creep up early as they approach March, and Isak’s window is open just wide enough that he can hear the sound of music outside, the neighbours across the street playing some 80s power ballad on their balcony. 

For a long while, they're quiet, just enjoying each other's company without words. Even sways a little in time with the music, and Isak watches the shadows play against the wall. Time feels like it's standing still, although of course Isak knows it isn't: he can hear Linn poking around in the kitchen; the low hum of Noora talking on the phone to Eva down the hallway. 

But Isak’s eyes are focused on Even, and Even’s eyes are focused right back, and before Isak can second guess it, or think for a second about why he shouldn't, he’s leaning forward, pressing a light kiss to the apple of Even’s cheek. 

If he has to, he knows, he can play this off as nothing. But he can't ignore the heaviness of this moment, the charged air that tells him something's gotta give, and soon.

“Happy birthday,” he says again, his voice low. He can hear how it wavers, but Even doesn’t seem to notice; instead, he stares at Isak like he’s just performed a miracle. Even’s eyes flicker down, just for a second, to Isak’s lips, and Isak sways forward before he can even think about it.

Even parts his own lips, like he’s about to say something, and then presses them shut. Then opens his mouth again. Then closes it.

Isak is just about to change the subject and pretend it never happened, when f inally, Even leans forward and kisses Isak’s own cheek -- just catching the corner of his mouth -- and pulls away again.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice unsteady.

Isak can't explain how he knows, but he knows, in that moment, that Even is feeling what he is feeling, and it makes something within Isak soar, jubilant and uncaged. He doesn't know when or how Even started feeling the way he feels, but he doesn't care. Maybe it's been forever, maybe it's been a day.

All Isak cares about is that Even wants this, too.

They meet in the middle, the next time. Isak couldn’t say who moves first; only that they’re tentative, lips barely brushing before they both pull back, look each other in the eyes, then go back in for a deeper kiss, Even’s mouth lingering on Isak’s as his hand traces Isak’s jaw.

Isak has kissed people before, but never like this. Never another boy, and never Even, and never sitting together on Isak’s bed with moonlight streaming in and Meatloaf playing from across the street.

Isak’s heart is racing. When he looks at Even, Even is staring unabashedly back, and Isak can only squirm under his gaze.

Even reaches out and takes Isak's hand, drawing little circles on the back of it with his thumb.

“You want to sleep?” He says, and Isak nods, not trusting himself to speak.

They get under the covers together without letting go--which is harder than Isak had imagined, but at least makes them laugh as they struggle with their outer layers, hands still joined. As soon as Isak shrugs off his hoodie and joins Even under the duvet, Even curls into face him, so that their faces are only inches from each other.

This is all so delicate and new. Isak doesn't know what the hell he's supposed to say.

All he knows right now is that he wants to kiss Even again, so he does. He kisses him and he tangles his legs with Even's and he messes up Even's hair by running his hands through it over and over.

And when it's time to sleep, Even pulls him in tight, letting Isak burrow into his neck. There will be time for talking tomorrow, but for now there is the press of their mouth's together: giddy and exploratory and sleepy in turn. Even pulls the covers up over Isak's shoulders, and Isak moves them enough that both their heads rest on his favourite pillow.

Eventually, the music stops. The kollektiv goes silent. And Isak and Even sleep tangled together, Even's soft breaths tickling Isak's hair as he feels the rise and fall of Even's chest under his fingers.

When the sun rises in the morning, Spring will be continuing on its way; new buds on the flowers on Even's mother's window, crocuses appearing in the gardens of Slottsparken. It will be a new day, and the sun will be shining.

Isak will wake up in Even's arms, and he will not let go.


End file.
